In an arts exhibition
A painting was on display
With a blank canvas
And title ‘The Grazing Mule’.
Viewers were curious
But hesitant to ask
Lest it may reflect
On their patronage and ability
To appreciate the modern art.
Perhaps not so wise, and
Unable to resist his temptation
A curious onlooker asked –
‘On canvas I don’t see the grass…!’
‘Because it’s eaten by the mule’
The position was clarified.
Utterly confused but he queried –
‘Okay, and where is the mule?’
The artist scornfully snapped
‘Sure you don’t expect
The mule will be so stupid
As to stand and stay idle
After eating the grass.’
Needless to mention
Throughout the exhibition
The amazing piece of art
Remained Jury’s choice
And organizers’ treat
With viewers flabbergasted!
Like the amazing painting
A good poetry is one
Every time you read it,
Flabbergasted or aghast
Unable to zero in on one
You make many guesstimates
Or interpretations, and why…
Even the poet would be unsure
To fathom or explain later
What was really going on
In his fertile mind or thoughts
When he composed
Those wonderful lines
Of the amazing poem.
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